


don't have to go to the pool

by kingsoftheimpossible



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hand Jobs, High School AU, M/M, Oral Sex- sort of, Semi-Public Sex, Shaving, Swim Team AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/pseuds/kingsoftheimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is the captain of the swim team, Harry is in love with him a bit, and there's this ritual before Big Meets. Everything goes fine. alternative summary: a suspicious lack of swimming for a story involving a swim team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't have to go to the pool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Turtles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtles/gifts).



> shout out to jaya for betaing the early version of this before i fUCked everything around and added 10k of unnecessary words. my girl. 
> 
> title from "pledge of allegiance" by louis xiv

The varsity swim team has this ritual, sort of, before big meets. It's like- well, Harry's never _done it_ before, because he's new, a bit, and he's sort of-

excited about it.

And he's more excited, maybe, about Louis idling in his driveway, windows of his beat-up compact rolled down- and even from his second-story bedroom, Harry can hear him down there, screeching along to Britney Spears at the top of his lungs, so loud that some of the neighbors peek out their front doors.

Harry slings his swim bag over his shoulder and rushes downstairs, tripping over the doorway a bit when he tries to wave goodbye to his mother. Louis probably almost definitely sees, because he's trying not to laugh when Harry slides into the passenger seat.

* * *

 

The drive to the school is less than ten minutes, and Harry nearly jumps out his skin when his phone buzzes. It’s just Gemma, of course.

_be cool haz x_

Louis glances over at him, raising his eyebrows higher and singing louder and there’s this weird red traffic light glow across his face, and Harry really, really wishes he could be cool for just once in his entire life. Instead, his shaky fingers drop his phone to the floorboard when he tries to text his sister a reply, and he dies a bit inside when Louis snorts softly and turns his attention back to the road.

* * *

 

The school is dark, parking lot empty, even the janitors gone for the night. Harry's heart is jackrabbiting in his chest, and he's not sure if it's the idea of breaking and entering or the way Louis' right hand is resting easily on the back of Harry's neck as they pull into a parking spot right in front of the gym.

"First ones here," Louis says, wiggling his eyebrows like what he's said is suggestive, somehow.

Maybe it is. Maybe Harry's just sixteen and stupid and thinking too hard.

He wants to answer, say something clever that'll make Louis laugh, that'll make him forget Harry's just a sophomore who only made varsity because Aiden Grimshaw transferred to some school upstate. Instead, he just smiles so hard his face hurts, and Louis grins back like Harry's weird, probably obvious, crush is cute instead of creepy.

Louis shuts the engine off, reaches back across the little space between them and scritchscratches his nails against the nape of Harry's neck. "You nervous, Styles?" he asks, a bit teasing, a bit genuinely concerned, when a shiver works through Harry's whole body.

"A bit. It's just- we could get in trouble, couldn't we?" He feels like a loser, asking the team captain that kind of thing when they're alone in his car and everything smells like him, and Harry knows he sounds scared and childish, and he knows, knows, knows Louis thinks he’s a complete spaz.

It's so dark in the car, the only light coming from one of the big street lamps in the center of the lot. Louis' eyes are so, so blue, sparkling, and Harry can see his sharp little canines as he grins, feral and so pretty, when he answers, "Oh yes, all sorts of trouble."

* * *

 

There are a million questions buzzing in Harry's head, about cops and expulsion and jobs for people who get kicked out of Catholic high schools for misdemeanors because _pretty boys with thick thighs and wolfy smiles_. But Louis is swaggering towards the gym doors, loose gray sweatpants clinging to all the right places, and Harry is sixteen and stupid and so in love with him, maybe. He follows a few paces behind, both of their bags slung over his thin shoulders, and nearly runs straight into Louis' back when he pauses in front of the the big double doors.

Louis turns to him, thoughtful twist to his mouth. "Have you ever broken in anywhere before, babe?"

And Harry definitely hasn't, and Louis has to know that, but he just called Harry _'babe'_ like it was the easiest thing in the world, and Harry's already reaching for the door like he can break the locks through sheer force of will.

Harry's fingertips barely brush the cool metal before Louis is laughing against Harry's neck, twining their fingers together to pull his hand away.

"Christ, Styles, I was joking! Niall's bringing a key, you lunatic." His warm breath shakes against the skin beneath Harry's ear, and Harry' too lost in it to feel embarrassed, even when headlights catch them, cast their joined shadow high against the gym wall.

There's a lot of whooping and yelling as Niall and the others pile out of his jeep, and Harry distinctly hears a wolf whistle that has to be about the way Louis' molded to his back, lips still pressed in a smile against Harry's neck.

"Oi, you two, knock that off!" Niall calls, clinging like a spidermonkey to Liam's back. "Things aren't even s'posed to be sexy yet!"

The _yet_ makes Harry's stomach flipflop, because it's a joke. This isn't like that, at least not for the rest of them, even if it is definitely a bit like that for Harry.

* * *

 

They stumble across the wide gym and it's pitch black, and they're all breathlessly giggling and their shoes make sharp squeaking sounds against the freshly waxed wood. Someone's passing around a metal water bottle with something clear that makes Harry's nose burn when he smells it. He's never liked the dark, or sneaking around,or getting in trouble, but Louis' hand is resting on the small of his back and he's never felt more at home.

* * *

 

Niall lets out a little shout when he flings open the locker room door, flipping light switches at random until dark circles are popping up in Harry's vision. He squints against the white tiles and the white lights and the way Louis is vibrating with restless energy beside him.

When Louis winks at him, slides his fingers down Harry's arm as he takes his bag from Harry's shoulder, Harry's heart feels too big for his chest, for his whole body.

"Hate this shit," Zayn murmurs, and he looks sleepy and irritated as he drops his bag on the floor. When he sees Harry's creased eyebrows, his face softens into a grin. "You'll get tired of it, too, eventually."

Maybe he's right, objectively, but Louis is toeing off his sneakers and sliding his sweats down his thighs and kicking them across the floor and Harry can't ever imagine being bored with this.

"Alright, lads, I'll go heat up the showers," Louis says, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into Harry's face. He smells so good, hot and sweat and cheap body spray and so Louis and Harry wants to press his face into the fabric and die.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and he pulls the shirt off his face, blinks up at Liam who's beaming back at him with those homecoming king puppydog creases around his eyes. "Alright, Harry?"

Harry just grins and grins, and he should really get better at saying words, but he's just so happy to be here, with all of them, included in something that isn't his weird shitty garage band with the ever-changing line-up of his sort-of friends or his mom's Thursday night ladies' poker tournaments.

They all like him. He loves them. It's not something he's used to, but it's nice.

* * *

 

The showers are steamed up when they enter, Harry dragged along by Niall's arm slung around his neck. They've stripped down to the swimsuits that Harry has an intense love-hate relationship with. On the one hand, he's never been shy, and he's always liked silly tiny underwear anyway. On the other hand, they don't hide much, and as soon as they enter the showers he can't take his eyes off Louis, back turned to them all, suit cutting sharp red lines into the curves of his ass like he's been wearing it beneath his clothes all day. He probably has; most of the seniors do.

The skin looks sensitive and Harry wants to touch it and soothe it and just look, forever, but Louis is turning and eyeing them all with his Serious Captain Face. He tosses them each a little plastic bag, and the precision with which he nails Liam square in the crotch is truly impressive.

By some miracle, Harry manages to catch his bag even though he's still a bit slack-jawed. Inside, there's a travel sized bottle of shaving cream and a disposable razor. He blinks down at it, feeling strangely disconnected from it, from the expectation of it, even though he knew it was coming.

* * *

 

There are only four shower heads and seven of them, so they split off. Harry ends up with the wonky one at the very end- the water pressure's a bit like being pissed on by a toddler, but he can manage, probably. He just doesn't know where to _start_.

Junior varsity was never very serious about the whole swimming thing. It was more about having somewhere to hang out after school while he waited on his mom to pick him up. Shaving wasn't mandatory and he never bothered, and neither did anyone else, except Patrick, who’d been shaving his legs since they were eight years old.

But the varsity team is _very_ serious. They've held the state championship three years running, and Liam is something of a legend on the national circuit. There was a rumor- something about him and the Olympics- that Harry's too awed to ask about.

Harry drops heavily onto the awkwardly cold wooden bench that runs the length of the showers; his hands shake a bit when he undoes the little ziplock.

* * *

"You're hopeless," an amused voice says from right behind him. Harry jumps, hissing a whine between his teeth when the razor catches against his skin for the fifth time. He's losing more blood than hair at this rate. He turns to see Louis standing with his hands on his hips, eyebrows cocked comically. The little laughline wrinkles around his eyes are deep and cute and Harry smiles, helpless.

"Having trouble?" Louis asks, stepping a bit closer until his soft belly and warm thighs press lightly against Harry's back.

Harry crosses his arms over his own stomach, hunching over his lap a bit in a way that he hopes is subtle. "I've no idea what I'm doing," he admits sheepishly.

Louis chuckles softly, fond, and slings a leg over to straddle the bench. "Well, first of all, lube's not just for jerking off, young Harold."

Harry nearly swallows his tongue, and he knows Louis notices because he can see his eyes twinkling in that way that always feels like it's just for Harry, just for the times Harry does exactly what Louis thought he would, what Louis wanted.

Louis reaches across Harry's body, snags the little bottle of shaving cream from the bench.

"Get your hands wet," he instructs, voice all business. Harry leans forward until the shower stream touches his palms, and Louis leans with him to squirt some of the foam into his hands.

Harry tries really hard not to think about Ms. Hutter's lecture about visual metaphors or whatever, but maybe that would be better than thinking about Louis’ breath ghosting over his shoulder.

* * *

"Get your legs wet, as well; fucking hell, you're useless!" Louis groans, grabbing Harry's knee and hoisting his leg up until it's pink from the hot water and Louis' tight grip.

"Now rub it in," Louis says, exaggeratedly bossy so that Harry has to bite back another smile. He bends double and works the shaving cream over his shin, knee, top of his thigh. He can feel Louis watching him, intense, but when he sneaks a look up there's just an easy smile on Louis’ face.

"What now?" Harry asks, feeling silly- he can see Zayn and Liam over Louis' shoulder, the way Zayn grins smugly and jerks his chin in Harry and Louis' direction so that Liam glances back at them, eyebrows raised. Harry's cheeks go hot, but Louis doesn't seem to notice the attention they're drawing.

Louis presses the razor back into Harry's hand, their fingers touching longer than strictly necessary. "Now you just shave, and try not to cut your fucking leg off this time."

"Can you show me?"

The words slip out before he can catch them, but he wouldn't take them back even if he could. Louis' lips part slightly and there's a bit of pink high on his cheeks that _might_ just be from the shower steam; it's a look Harry hasn't seen on him before. Surprised, a bit out of his element.

It looks really good.

* * *

 

The problem with the swimsuits is that they don't hide anything, and the problem with Harry's entire life is that Louis is standing a few inches in front of him, letting the shower spray hit him in the chest and run down his belly and thighs and god, Harry's never been so hard ever, and he's dying, probably.

Louis is humming something that sounds suspiciously like Joan Jett under his breath, eyes closed, and he leans his head forward so water streams down his neck, across his shoulders, rivulets down his spine and collects in the dip of his lower back.

Harry can barely see straight, but he hums along quietly and sees Louis' cheeks raise in a smile.

"Good song," Louis says, like the lyrics aren't pounding like a bass drum in Harry's skull.

"Sang it with my band outside a Starbucks once," Harry answers, head spinning a bit with all the steam. "We got booed off cause we're terrible." The loud chattering of the other boys feels a million light years away when Louis turns to face him, glistening and golden and Harry wants him so badly he doesn't even know what to do with the feeling.

Louis' face is all soft lines when he smiles down at Harry, and he's so, so, so pretty.

* * *

 

"You two sure are taking your sweet time over there," Niall huffs, stretching his newly-smooth legs out in front of him and wiggling his toes.

"Not all of us are hairless mole rats," Louis snaps back, but he's laughing.

Niall snorts. "Well hurry up, you hairy animals, there's a midnight swim with our names on it!"

"And I want to get home in time to sleep at least an hour before we head to the meet at four in the fucking morning," Zayn grumbles, but he knocks his shoulder against Liam's and they both look happy.

Farther down, Chris and Sam are already trailing out of the showers, headed to grab their towels even as they glance back at Louis like they're waiting for permission.

"Oh, go on, the lot of you!" Louis calls, faking irritation. "Young Harold and I'll be out in a moment. He's new to all this, you know."

Zayn mumbles something under his breath that sounds a bit like _yeah I bet_ , but it doesn't sound cruel.

They shut the showers off as they leave until it's just Louis and Harry and their wonky faucet, which is hopefully not some sort of metaphor.

* * *

 

The humming feels out of place when it's just the two of them, too loud in the echoey tile room.

Harry feels reckless and brave, puffing himself up like a lion inside his own head.

When Louis reaches for the shaving cream bottle, Harry swipes it before he can grab it. Louis' eyebrows shoot up, and Harry never wants to stop surprising him.

"I could try- for, like, practice," Harry mumbles, and it's the flimsiest excuse to touch someone, even worse than when he asked to feel Caroline Flack's boobs because Gemma'd said boobs felt a bit like warm dough. She wasn’t wrong, exactly, but Harry had definitely enjoyed feeling Caroline up more than he enjoyed rolling out baguettes at the bakery.

Louis clears his throat, and his cheeks look as warm as Harry's feel, but he just laughs a bit hysterically and jerkily shrugs one shoulder. "If it's for practice, I guess."

* * *

 

Harry's knees hurt- the tile is warm from the hot water, but absolutely unforgiving against his knobby bones. His heart's in his throat, beating so rough and fast and uneven that he feels dizzy with it. He runs a hand over Louis' shin, leaving a trail of the thick white shaving cream behind. All the soap from Harry's own legs is swirling down the drain, but that's okay, really. He reaches Louis' knee, circles his hands to cover the soft skin at the back. Louis makes a tiny noise and his leg shakes the slightest bit like he's ticklish. Harry looks up at him through his lashes and Louis' breath catches harsh in his throat.

He feels powerful in a way he never, ever has, and the rush and the dizziness send him reeling, so he drops his forehead to rest against the front of Louis' thigh.

His skin's so warm and he smells perfect underneath the soap and awful gym shower water.

"Y'alright?" Louis asks, and his voice wavers the tiniest bit as he threads his fingers through Harry's curls, gentle. Kind.

"Just-" Harry starts, but what can he say?

_Just so hard I'm going to pass out. Just so happy my heart's going to fall out my fucking stupid face. Just so in love with you that I can't even breathe sometimes, maybe. Hope that’s alright._

He pulls his face away from Louis' skin, shakes his head a bit to clear it, and squirts more shaving cream in his hands.

"When I was first put on varsity,” Louis says, breathy and high in his throat like he's trying to distract himself, “I was a sophomore, too," Harry already knew that, sort of, but he's never heard how it happened, and even if he had, he'd listen to Louis talk about anything.

"The captain was this absolute asshole named Max Never hated anyone more in my entire life."

Louis' thighs are solid bunches of muscle beneath Harry's hands, quivering like he's about to jump through the roof.

"When we did this the first time, he made me stand on the bench, made everyone watch me fumble around like an idiot. Bled everywhere and everyone laughed. It was-" his voice cracks when Harry's fingers skim the inside of his thigh, and he shifts his feet so that his legs are a little further apart. "Awful. It was fucking awful."

"'s'at why you're so nice to me? So you won't be like that?" Harry asks, moving his attention to Louis' other leg, working from the thigh down.

Louis doesn't answer, just teases his fingers deeper into Harry's hair and scratches lightly until Harry can't even keep his hands in rhythm, has to stop with his palms flat against Louis' tensed calves to keep himself upright.

"Alright," Louis says, voice forced breezy. He takes a step away from where Harry's kneeling, rests the very edge of his ass on the bench with his legs spread wide and feet planted flat to keep his balance.

"Watch me," he orders, like Harry could possibly do anything else.

* * *

 

It's fast.

Harry's eyes can barely keep up with the way Louis is stripping his legs; it looks painful, but he doesn't seem to mind. His face is fiercely concentrated, a single-minded focus that turns his soft features hard and dark.

Harry likes it.

Too much, maybe.

Because he can picture it- Louis sitting on the edge of his bed, toes digging hard into the carpet, hand wrapped tight around himself, jerking so hard and fast that it's _punishing_. His face would have that same determination while he watched himself appear and disappear into his own fist and Harry- whines.

Out loud.

* * *

 

Louis swears when he nicks himself, but his face is concerned when his head jerks up to check on Harry. He opens his mouth to say something, probably to ask if Harry's alright, but his eyes get caught on the way Harry's digging the heel of his palm hard against the front of his swimsuit.

Harry hadn't realized he was doing it, but now it's a bit late to stop. The cat's out of the bag, the dick’s tenting the speedo, and all that.

* * *

 

"'m sorry," Harry mumbles, and his face is on fire, but he's so far past singing the national anthem or thinking of his grandmother in a bikini or whatever he's supposed to do in this situation. His knees are still aching against the tiles and the throbbing coincides with the heavy pulse in his swimsuit.

Louis gets to his feet and steps around Harry until he's holding one leg out into the shower spray. His hand rests lightly on Harry's shoulder for balance, and Harry doesn't dare turn to watch his face.From the corner of his eye, Harry can see a huge swath of shaving cream on the back of Louis' right thigh, and he knows, knows, knows, he should just shut up, stop pushing luck he’s never really had, but-

"Missed a spot," he says, and his own voice is deeper than he's ever heard it. Louis' fingers tighten infinitesimally around Harry's shoulder before he lets go, bending forward to rub away excess hair and soap from his shins.

"I'm always shit at getting the back," Louis admits, laughing at himself. "Miss it more often than not."

"I could get it for you," Harry offers, stomach flipping nervous and featherlight.

Louis pauses, looking at Harry over his shoulder and Harry does his best to look casual and platonic and whatever it'll take for Louis to let him touch his thighs again.

"Practice?" Louis asks, one eyebrow raised in a clear message that he knows perfectly well practice is nowhere near Harry's mind.

Harry grins at him, all dimples and charm, sort of the look he uses on teachers to get extensions on deadlines and his boss at the bakery to get Saturdays off.

Louis straightens up and tilts his chin toward the bench where the razor sits discarded, and Harry's whole body tingles because he does get to touch him and it's going to be short, but it's going to happen. And Louis' still talking to him and smiling at him and indulging him even though he has to know Harry's been hard since they first walked in the showers, so much that it hurts a bit- but it's all fine.

* * *

 

Louis rests his palms flat against the warm tiles of the wall, leaning his weight forward so Harry can squat behind him, shifting the razor nervously in his clumsy hands. The growth spurts keep coming and Harry isn't quite used to all this body he has now.

"If you cut me, Styles, I swear to god..." Louis lets his voice trail off in a way that would be menacing if Harry couldn't hear the breathless titter that follows his words.

"I'll be really careful," he says, a promise he means so much, before wrapping a hand lightly around Louis' knee and leaning in.

* * *

 

Louis' thighs are shaking, covered in goosebumps from Harry's breath tickling the skin. It only takes three slow swipes of the razor to remove to leftover hair, but Harry stalls, running his fingers everywhere he can reach, ostensibly checking for more missed patches.

"Th-think I'm good, yeah?" Louis asks, clearing his throat against the high crack in his voice. His muscles shift restlessly under Harry's palms, and Harry realizes for the first time how strong his legs must be, to keep up with people like Liam and Zayn when Louis has anything but a typical swimmer's body.

"Good," Harry agrees, and it comes out whispered, barely audible above the shower. He gets to his feet just as Louis turns to face him.

Their chests brush.

Harry feels a bit like he might have an asthma attack.

* * *

 

"Hi," Harry says, because his brain's too caught on the way water from Louis collar bones is dripping down onto his own chest.

"Hiya," Louis breathes back, a shaky grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes brighten, and he squints a bit like he's mentally gathering himself. "You next, Styles, come on. Can't stay a hairy beast forever."

* * *

 

Harry is...showing off, a bit.

Because Louis is hard. Harry can see it now, with Louis sitting on the bench, elbows on his knees, dick straining against the wet fabric of his suit. He's not shy about it, legs spread same as earlier, eyebrows raised at Harry expectantly.

And Harry probably looks stupid, trying to rub shaving cream on his legs the way he's seen women oil themselves in some of the weirder pornos he’s snuck over at Niall's house, but-

Louis' breathing is quick and shallow, and Harry knows, knows, knows it's for him.

* * *

 

"Come here."

Harry freezes, razor a bare inch from his shin. He blinks up at Louis, at the way he's got a hand extended, beckoning Harry to him. Harry goes, of course. There’s not a single universe where Harry wouldn’t come if Louis asked.

Louis plucks the razor from Harry's hand, grabs him by his skinny hips and positions him so he’s standing centered between Louis' spread knees.

"Be here all night if I leave you to it," Louis mumbles under his breath. "Leg up," he orders.

Harry raises his right leg uncertainly, and Louis grabs it, rests Harry's foot on his own thigh, keeping his fingers circled around Harry’s ankle to steady him.

Having Louis' hands on him, his attention on him, is maddening. He’s quick and sure as he runs the razor down Harry's shin and calf, humming to himself again. Something tuneless, thank god, because Harry's still stuck on-

_do you wanna touch do you wanna touch do you wanna touch me there_

Louis pushes Harry's foot down to rest on the bench and it brings Harry's thinly-veiled dick awfully, frustratingly close to Louis' pursed lips. Harry catches the whine before it leaves his throat this time, but Louis still glances up at him, eye dark, grin twisting into a terrible smirk.

* * *

 

Louis goes slow, and it’s almost worse.

When he has to reach around Harry to wash the razor off in the shower spray, Louis rests his cheek against Harry’s hip, and he’s got a little bit of stubble, the tiniest bit, and it feels like electricity buzzing over Harry’s skin.

His hands are steady when they run over Harry’s skinny thighs, dragging the razor along smoothly and stripping Harry’s skin until he’s naked-

It feels so strange.

Not bad.

Just different.

When the first leg is done, Louis looks up at Harry expectantly, tapping two fingers against Harry’s raised knee. “How’s it feel, Styles?”

“Uh-” is all Harry really manages, because mainly it just feels cold. The shower’s not giving off steam anymore and he’s wet and now he doesn’t even have his little coat of boyfur to keep the chill off. His skin is so pale. Louis probably thinks he looks like a shaved yeti or something equally gross and repulsive.

“Other leg up, babe, come on,” Louis says, voice soft, and they really are alone, aren’t they? This is really happening, and Louis is touching him, and it’s all just so much.

Harry nearly topples over trying to shift his other leg up on the bench, but Louis’ hands wrap around his hips to steady him. They’re both quiet while Louis works over the other leg, careful but quicker, running his palm behind the razor to make sure he hasn’t missed a thing.

“All done.”

Harry lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, shakes a bit, because it’s over, because it happened at all.

* * *

 

Louis doesn’t move, doesn’t push Harry’s leg off the bench, doesn’t take his hand off Harry’s ankle. He’s looking somewhere off to Harry’s left, eyes unfocused, far off. Harry lets him think, focuses on the feel of Louis’ warm hand on him, tries to remember every second of the last hour because. Well.

“You know what’s so weird, Harry?” Louis asks after a moment, blinking back into focus, meeting Harry’s eyes with an intensity that’s unexpected and a bit scary.

Harry shakes his head, not sure he’s up to speaking yet. Louis’ thumb is running light circles around the little bird-bones in Harry’s ankle, and it’s more distracting than it should be.

“You drive me absolutely crazy, all the fucking time,” Louis says, like it’s not earth-shattering, like it won’t shake the foundation beneath Harry’s stupid sixteen year old feet.

All Harry can offer is a breathless, croaked, “‘‘m sorry,” but Louis just shrugs, and the pull of the muscles in his bare shoulders and chest is absolutely fascinating. Harry’s heart is pounding so hard it shakes his vision, blurring Louis in and out of focus when all Harry wants to do is _see_ him.

“Remember when I stayed at your house the last night of swim camp? You made me listen to that awful Coldplay thing on vinyl.”

They’d shared Harry’s little twin bed, and Harry’d stayed up til four am listening to Louis tell bullshit stories, and then stayed up til six am just watching him sleep. It was creepy, probably, but Harry’d never met anyone like Louis before, never felt like the whole world had shrunk down to the head of a pin, to one person.

“I remember.”

“I woke up the next morning,” Louis goes on, like Harry hadn’t spoken, “and you were just plastered to me, like a koala or something. And you were so small, such a _kid_.”

Harry wants to protest, but he knows it would be useless. He really was small, at the end of the summer, but that was months ago and he’s hit at least three growth spurts since then.

“And the worst part is, I was so into you, even then, you know? Even sitting in your stupid bedroom underneath your stupid White Stripes poster, and you wearing that awful Lord of the Rings shirt and fucking Scooby-Doo boxers.” Louis laughs at himself, eyes cast down, and his eyelashes are lovely, and his cheeks are lovely, and _he’s_ lovely, and Harry’s brain stopped working about ten minutes ago.

“So, like, I guess what I’m getting at, Harry, is that I’d like to kiss you, if that’s fine, and then we can go out there and swim with our boys, and then I can take you home, or you can come back to mine, and we can- I don’t know. We can go to sleep, probably, since there’s a meet at piss o’clock in the morning.” He’s pointedly staring at Harry’s navel, and it's frustrating because Harry just wants to look at him, to say _haha, excuse me, sir, I'm not sure if you noticed, but you mentioned, like, kissing me? which like,_ obviously _you were joking but, like, haha. ha._

"I'm a bit lost," Harry manages, and he must look so stupid with his hands hanging limp by his sides. He pulls his leg down finally, because he needs all the help he can get to stay upright. He's still standing between Louis' open knees, and it's comforting, a bit. He feels protected, and private, and it's nice, even though he can't _breathe._

Louis rolls his eyes, looks up at Harry finally. "Look, okay, I'm not- I'm not _good_ at this sort of thing, Harry. But I know you're at least a bit into me, because you laugh at every stupid thing I say, and you look at me like- like-"

Harry knows.

He can't help it.

"So just- do you want to? Kiss me? Or not. Like, just tell me, because we really do need to go swim before the boys riot or leave or something stupid, so just-"

"Yeah," Harry interrupts, because _duh_. "Yeah, yes, please, yeah."

Louis presses his lips together hard, like he's trying not to beam. He looks like the sun. Harry wants him so much.

"Alright, then. So that's settled." He stands, a bit shaky like his legs might be asleep, and rests one hand loosely against the side of Harry's neck. "So've you ever kissed a boy before, Harry Styles?"

"Once at daycare when I was five," Harry answers automatically, then his face flames up because obviously that doesn't count.

"Well," Louis says, trying not to laugh, and it looks like all the laughing he's not doing is building up in the way his eyes are shining. "This might be a bit different than your grossly underage snogging. Hopefully."

Hopefully, indeed.

Louis leans in, and the slightest bit down, because he's only just taller than Harry now, and not for long if Harry's genes have anything to do with it. Their eyes are open, which Harry knows is like, taboo, or something, but he still can't wrap his head around this.

Louis stops with his mouth barely a breath away from Harry's, and it sounds like he's going to say something, but Harry's waited _months_ for this, and he surges forward so quickly that their foreheads bump, and then Louis' _really_ laughing at him, but Harry can't really stop himself. And he's watched Louis laugh so many times, and he loves it, and now he's swallowing it down into his own belly, locking Louis' breathless giggles away for later like treasure. And their lips are so warm together, and Harry's still cold, but Louis' hand tightens against his neck, and his teeth tug at Harry's lower lip. At some point Harry's eyes slipped closed, so he supposes they’re kissing properly now, but mostly he just-

feels like he's going to explode into thin air, he's so happy.

It's good. It's really good, even though Harry's a bit too eager and Louis' breathlessly laughing too much to really focus, but Louis'd said _come back to mine._

When Harry starts _actually_ climbing Louis like he's a tree, Louis has to push him off and away, and their cheeks are red, and they're grinning like idiots. Everyone’s going to know. Harry wants everyone to know.

"Pool, yeah? Before Zayn sets Liam on fire and fucks off home?" Louis asks, but he doesn't need to ask. Harry'd do anything he said.

"Yeah, yeah."

Louis picks up the discarded razors and bags, shoves them into Harry's hands. "Toss these, would you?" and it's a bit like nothing's happened, like Harry's still just the new kid on the team and Louis' the untouchable captain, but then he pinches Harry's ass as he walks past, and, yeah, okay.

Harry can work with that.

He gets rid of the trash and tags along behind Louis to the indoor pool. He's looking forward to swimming with all the boys, playing around, having friends and being liked. But his mind's stuck on the after.

_Come back to mine._

_Okay_ , Harry thinks, _okay._

His stomach twists, and it's good, and Louis brushes his hand against Harry's trembly little belly before pushing open the doors to the pool, taking a running leap and cannonballing into the deep end. He surfaces and the boys all yell for Harry, _come on, come in, come on-_

_Come back to mine._

_Okay_ , Harry thinks again, laughing brightly as Liam heaves himself out of the pool to chase Harry round the cement. _Okay._

* * *

 

Harry is buzzing. His skin is pruned and shriveled and he’s spent the last hour being tossed about the pool and nuzzled and touched by the boys, and it’s been wonderful and _maddening_. But they’re out now, and they’re saying their goodbyes, and Harry’s only got eyes for Louis- the way his white t-shirt clings to the places his skin is still wet, the way his swimsuit peeks over the band of his sweats, the way he fistbumps Liam and gets Niall in a headlock- all the while keeping an eye on Harry in return.

The parking lot is a bunch of murmured goodbyes, curses, _good luck, see you in a few hours, try to sleep, you assholes_. It’s dark, Harry’s got both their swim bags again, and his hair is dripping cold onto the collar of his uniform polo. He feels like a huge dork now, with all the other boys wearing t-shirts and trackies while he’s still in his school clothes with his swimsuit staining hit khakis wet.

Everyone else piles into Niall’s jeep and he honks the horn a few times, just because he can, before peeling out of the lot, leaving Harry standing a few feet away from Louis, who’s leaning casually on the hood of his car.

It’s weird, a bit, because they went from saying all those things in the showers to acting like nothing had happened in the pool, and now they’re alone again and Harry’s not sure how to handle it. He’s not even sure if earlier was real or just some nerve-induced waking wetdream.

His feet shift uneasily, and when he looks up at Louis again, Louis’ looking right back at him, and his face is as soft as Harry’s ever seen it. He looks hesitant, watching Harry intently like he’s waiting for something.

"Did I scare you off then?" he asks, voice quieter than Harry’s used to hearing him, all the bravado stripped away, worn hoarse by yelling in the pool.

It’s so so so far from the truth that it takes Harry a moment to process it, and in that moment he watches as Louis shrinks a bit, loses that casual swagger and scratches shyly at the back of his neck, eyes darting off somewhere over Harry’s shoulder.

"I mean, it’s alright, of course, I know I’m like, ancient, and all, it was just- I really thought, you know, you might- a bit, like-"

"I do, I do, I really do, I promise-" The words rush out so suddenly that Harry trips over them, ends up coughing and choking a bit on his own spit- sexy and erotic as he is. It’s worth it to see Louis’s mouth twist in that wicked little grin, for him to tilt his head just so, pulling Harry towards him like a magnet.

Harry’s never been shy, exactly, but the few steps forward to stand between Louis’ firmly planted feet make him feel like the whole world is watching, waiting for him to trip and faceplant on the pavement. But then Louis is hooking his fingers in Harry’s belt loops, pulling him in until Louis’ grinning just a breath away from Harry’s open mouth-

“Get in the car, Styles.” He pushes Harry away gently, laughing at the disgruntled little noise he makes in response.

 _You could’ve kissed me, at least,_ Harry thinks a bit grumpily as he slides into the passenger seat. Louis is already turning the key in the ignition, fiddling with the radio, hands flying across the wheel and dash with the manic bursts of energy he gets before big occasions. Harry wonders a bit absently if the swim meet is the big occasion, or if, maybe, somehow, it’s just him, sitting in Louis’ car, reaching out a tentative hand to pet at Louis’ thigh while he shifts into reverse and speeds out of the parking lot.

When they’re on the road, Louis glances down at Harry’s fingers gripping lightly at his sweats, and Harry’s watching him close enough to catch the little toothy grin he quickly smothers.Harry wants to say something, anything to get Louis looking at him, speaking to him, smiling. To break down the nervous tense hum thrumming through the car.

“My legs itch real bad,” is the best he comes up with.

Louis snorts, flicks on his turn signal about three beats late. “Yeah, that’s the shit part. Just have to keep lotion on them til you get used to it.”

The rest of the fifteen minute drive to Louis’ house is characterized by Harry remaining oddly quiet while his brain panic-flips through about a million scenarios involving Louis’ legs and endless bottles of lotion.

* * *

 

Louis’ cul de sac is a lot different than Harry’s- there’s no gate to drive through, no neighborhood watch signs, and only every other streetlight seems to work. Harry’s never been _in_ Louis’ house before, and his palms start clamming up a bit when Louis parks along the curb and shuts the engine off.

Harry reaches for his door, ready to get out and inside and hopefully naked at some point, but Louis catches his hand, worries his bottom lip between his teeth when Harry turns to meet his eyes.

“It’s not-” Louis starts, then falters, looks out the windshield at the empty street. “It’s not as nice as your house, so like- I just felt like I should warn you. Before we go in, you know.” He sets his jaw, a bit fierce and defiant when he looks back at Harry, like he’s daring him to laugh or say something awful. Like he ever could.

Harry just shrugs, tries not to smile down at where Louis is still holding his hand. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

It’s a cheesy, stupidly honest thing to say, and Harry sort of expects Louis to go straight for his jugular- but instead, he watches Louis’ eyes drop to his lap, sees his cheeks pink up again in the watery streetlight glow.

* * *

 

The house is dark when Louis opens the door and guides Harry inside.

“Quiet, yeah? My mom and sisters are asleep already.”

Harry nods, shuffles impossibly closer to Louis’ back until he’s practically wrapped around him, follows him through the front door and up two dark flights of stairs until they’re standing in front of a single door at the very top.

* * *

 

It’s not as if Harry’s never shared a sink before- as kids, he and Gemma’d had to brush their teeth at the same time while their mother supervised. So this knocking arms and dribbling toothpaste thing isn’t _new_ , exactly.

But also, it kind of is.

Their elbows bump while they brush their teeth with matching Power Rangers toothbrushes (courtesy of Zayn), and when Harry chances a peek in the mirror, Louis pulls a grotesque face at him and toothpaste foam dribbles down his chin and bare chest.

Louis hipchecks him and Harry drops his toothbrush in the sink. When he tries to grab it, Louis spits a huge mouthful of toothpaste onto his hand. When Harry cries out a disgusted “heeeeeeey”, Louis just cackles softly and presses him up against the bathroom counter, kisses him until they both have foam-covered faces and Harry’s toothbrush falls forgotten to the tile floor.

Someday, maybe, Harry will be an adult who falls in love with people who, like, have boring toothbrushes in plain colors and don’t pull stupid faces in the mirror while they floss.

But he really kind of hopes not.

* * *

 

"We can’t wake my sisters up," Louis warns again, watching curiously as Harry wanders around his bedroom, running his hands over everything, examining every book and poster and pile of discarded clothes like he might find the meaning of life in the attic bedroom of this little fall-apart two-story.

"My bed’s a bit…it’s small," Louis goes on, and Harry can pick out the self-consciousness there, the waver in his voice. It’s strange, a bit, because Louis’ always been larger than life to him, a lion in a boy’s body. But his voice is shaking because Harry’s in his bedroom and that’s- something.

"Bigger’n mine," Harry says, grinning at Louis as he holds up a cd case for his inspection.

Louis’ face goes bright, bright red, and he grabs a pillow to hide behind. “Shut up, you tiny monster, shut _up_!”

Harry feels as if his own face is going to split in two, like his dimples are actually cramping, but he just places the Coldplay cd carefully back on Louis’ desk.

"We should- go to sleep probably. Have to be on the bus in a few hours." Louis sounds uncertain, and Harry sort of likes that, that Louis, pretty, golden, swim team captain _Louis_ , thinks Harry is something to be nervous about.

"Want me to hit the lights?" Harry asks, and if he makes his voice a bit more syrupy slow than usual, who minds, really.

Louis just nods, settling back against his single pillow and running his hands quickly over his thighs. Nervous. It’s nice that Harry’s not the only one.

* * *

 

With the lights out, things feel a bit different.

They’ve shared a bed before. More than once, even. Louis’d stayed at Harry’s a few times after late practices, and it was- tense, but good. Fine.

This is different. When the lights flick off, they leave blue-gray shadows and the thrum of electricity running under Harry’s skin. His heart’s pounding and he can’t _see_ , but he hears Louis’ breathless little titter from the bed and tries to follow.

He ends up boning his knee against the desk chair and cursing softly, and Louis laughs and laughs at his string of murmured _ow shit shit shit ow_. But then the bed shifts and the floor creaks, and Harry’s got Louis curved against his side, around him, pressed everywhere in the dark, and he’s puffing warm little giggles against Harry’s neck,and it’s not like Harry needs his stupid knee or anything. He might possibly crack his shin on purpose every single day if it gets Louis this close.

“You really are hopeless,” Louis murmurs, and it’s something he’s said before, will probably say again, but Harry can feel the way he’s smiling, planes of his teeth pressed tight to the overheated skin of Harry’s neck.

It’s a lot.

It’s good.

“C’mon, babe.” Louis molds himself to Harry’s back, presses him forward until his knees hit the low edge of Louis’ bed. And, well, shit, he might’ve actually fucked his knee quite well, but he’ll worry about that later.

Louis reaches around him, pulls the covers back and nudges Harry forward. Harry takes a second to push his boxers down his thighs, lets them drop to the floor and shivers when Louis’ knuckles drag lightly across the bare skin of his ass.

“I like to sleep on the outside,” Louis explains, but Harry just smiles, pauses a beat to press himself back against the warm shape of Louis in the dark, because that’s something he can do now, says, “I remember,” because he’s thought about it a lot.

When his back hits the wall and the mattress dips with the weight of Louis crawling in beside him, it really sinks in that this is happening. Harry’s not sure what _this_ is, exactly, but it feels big, and a bit scary, and his heart is a hummingbird flutter that’s making him light-headed.

* * *

 

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s breathing until Louis’ hand brushes his jaw, fumbles in the lowlight until it’s pressing solid and warm against Harry’s chest.

“Jesus,” Louis breathes out on a shaky laugh, “calm down, babe, just- don’t pass out, Harry, I swear to God, I’ll never let you in my house again if you pass out right now-”

And that’s just not helping at all, and Harry’s always been a bit weepy, especially when he’s nervous. “No,” he says, and it’s far too loud and fierce for the situation at hand, but the little hitching half-sob that follows it is probably enough to soften the delivery. Louis is deadstill, hand limp against Harry’s chest and that’s just- Harry just needs him to _do_ something, say something because Harry’s never- been in a bed with someone who’d said things like Louis’d said just a few hours ago, and shit, shit, shit, maybe Harry imagined it? Maybe this is all a stupid dream, because he’s had dreams about this before, and he’s going to wake up tomorrow in his own bed, have to climb into Louis’ car and pretend it’s not the eight-thousandth time Harry’s dreamed about-

Louis’ hands reaches up to rake through his curls, soft little hum of- maybe, it could be, that song, that silly Coldplay song that Harry is just young enough to think was maybe, somehow, written just for them. And Louis’ voice, sleepysoft and so close that his breath tickles Harry’s skin, “You’re alright.”

“Am I?” Harry gasps, a little dizzy.

“Yeah, more than alright. Personally,” and Louis is such a shit, really, and Harry loves him so much that his heart’s trying to beat through his chest and jump straight into Louis’ palm, “I think you’re better’n alright. Great, maybe. Lovely.”

Harry can’t think of anything to say, just lets his eyes close and his breathing even out while Louis fingercombs his hair against the cool pillow.

“I can feel you blushing from here,” Louis says after a few minutes, and he sounds teasing and fond all at once. The teasing is something Harry’s used to, but the fond is new- unless he’s just now catching what’s been there for a while.

“Well you’ve still got your hand on my nipple, haven’t you?” Harry grumbles, trying to shimmy away a bit. Louis catches him with the hand pressed between his hip and the bed, the other flattening tight over his heart.

“It’s cute.”

If Harry was blushing before, he’s on fire now, and Louis has to feel it in the way his heart is hammering away beneath his palm. The entire room is too warm, but the little space between Louis’ chest and his own is positively volcanic. There’s so much in that few inches of emptiness, the crumpled blue sheets and the crosscutting of Louis’ arms, reaching for him, touching him, skin and skin and his heartbeat, frantic.

 _This can’t be love_ , Harry thinks with a sort of awed dawning realization. This can’t be love, or someone would’ve told him. Someone would’ve run up to him in the streets, shouting about this feeling, that something like this exists. People would never leave their beds. People would never fight or fuck or anything but- this. These quiet inches, Louis’ fingers tapping _your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones turn into something beautiful_ , somehow just in time with the thudding of Harry’s heart, a blanket and all the warmth beneath it is the two of them breathing together, watching each other in the window glow.

“‘m so tired,” Harry murmurs, feels guilty because surely Louis had been expecting more- eighteen year old Louis with his pretty eyes and warm hands. Harry’s just a kid up past his bedtime, trying to keep up with the big boys. It’s always felt like that on the team, but with Louis it’s just- not as much. But sometimes more.

Louis pulls gently at Harry’s hip, like it’s an option- _come or stay, up to you, Styles_. Like Harry could ever have any response besides wiggling forward until their noses are nearly touching, until there’s no room between their chests for Louis’ hand anymore, so it has to settle on the slight dip of Harry’s waist.

“Go to sleep, then.” Louis’ voice is gentle, breath barely brushing Harry’s lips.

“Can’t,” Harry says, stubborn, even though his eyelids are drooping nearly shut.

“Why not?” and maybe Harry’s dreaming already, but it feels like Louis’ even closer, like their breaths are mingling- the air he breathes in tastes warm, tastes like Louis in the gym showers and Louis against the bathroom counter.

“Like to kiss you first.” He wouldn’t say it if he weren’t half-asleep, but he is and- and Louis’ kissed him more than once today. Louis has _kissed _him, already. Because he wanted to.__

And judging by the startled little laugh, the warm and immediate press of Louis’ lips against his, maybe he’d already been planning on it.

* * *

 

They wake up kissing. The alarm clock rings on and on until one of Louis’ sisters throws something at her ceiling, the loud thunk pulling them apart into breathless giggles.

It’s still dark outside, and Harry can feel the press of Louis everywhere, feel his body-warm sweatpants against Harry’s bare legs, smell the chlorine trapped in his hair, in the bed, feels like falling off a high-dive before he’s ready when Louis’ eyes blink open, sleep-heavy and the brightest summer-swim blue.

The first meet is in three hours. The bus leaves in one.

“Morning, kid,” Louis yawns directly into Harry’s face, and his breath’s foul but Harry can’t help but smile and press their mouths together again, keep doing it because Louis lets him, kisses him back.

He dreamed about Louis- about kissing him, about swimming with him, about doing everything on earth with him. Now he’s awake, and Louis is still here, sleepy lines beneath his eyes and pillow creases pressed red into his cheek.

Harry butts his forehead soft against Louis’ chin, says, “Missed you,” before his newly-wakened brain catches up to his slurring mouth. Louis blinks at him for a moment, and Harry feels stupid, because it was a stupid thing to say when they’ve been pressed together all night.

Louis rolls, spreads himself over Harry’s body and pins him to the mattress, cheeks faintly pink beneath the sleep lines. “You’re trying to kill me, Harry Styles,” he says, dramatic, ridiculous, laughing a little. He’s always laughing at Harry, feels like. “You’re a robot from some rival school sent to murder me with your stupid- _everything_.”

Harry giggles, breathless, too warm and early-morning tired to offer much fight against the way Louis’ holding his wrists against the sheets. He doesn’t mind it much anyway. The weight of Louis, solid and sleep-hot, feels nice, and Harry wants to keep him there forever.

He can feel Louis’ dick, half hard, pushed against his belly, and it makes his head spin and his insides squirm. Louis seems to realize it a moment later, his grip on Harry’s wrists falling away as his mouth drops open a little. Harry likes Louis’ mouth, thinks about it a lot.

Harry’s totally got a boner.

His boner is actually Real Life pressed against Louis’ Tomlinson’s ass.

It’s like the world slows down and tilts stupidly off its axis when Louis' fingers brush curiously over the flushed underside of Harry’s dick where it rests against his belly between them. Harry chokes on a whine and Louis snatches his hand away, eyes wide and cheeks absolutely hectic.

”Showers. Bus. Swim meet,” Louis recites like a mantra, closing his eyes and rolling off of Harry to faceplant on the bed. “Showers, bus, swim meet,” he repeats, voice muffled by the pillow. He reaches blindly to pull at Harry’s arm, jostles him until Harry crawls carefully over Louis’ body and out of the bed.

Louis turns his face to peek at Harry then groans, shoving his head under the pillow. “ _Shower_ ,” he snaps, “ _Clothes._ Go, Styles.”

Harry goes.

* * *

 

When Harry gets out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet on his bare shoulders, Louis is still reclining on the bed, fiddling with his phone and frowning.

“I want to- do it.” It'd taken a lot of psyching himself up in the shower to reach this rather disappointing point.

Louis’ brow creases even further but he doesn’t pull his eyes away from the phone. “Do what, H? I’m almost on the next level...”

Harry can’t think of a way to say _it_ that doesn’t sound stupid and porny, or stupid and childish.

_Hey, Louis, do you wanna frickfrack? Hey, Louis, please fuck me. Hey, Louis, I put two fingers in myself while I was jerking off once and didn’t cry or anything? Isn’t that neat, aha x._

He just says, “Lou,” tries to make his voice urgent and- something, alluring? Louis finally drops his phone to the bed beside him, looks up to meet Harry’s eyes but gets caught somewhere around his bare stomach, the towel slung loose around his hips. That’s something, at least.

Louis’ hands drop to his thighs and he kneads them absently, pulling his eyes up to meet Harry’s face with what looks like real physical effort. “What were you saying, babe?”

”Can we-” Harry starts, but Louis’ phone chimes several times in a row and they both jump.

Louis frowns as he flips through the texts, and he sighs so heavily his entire chest rises and falls with the action. ”Zayn needs to catch a ride with us to school. We’ve gotta leave in fifteen minutes."

Harry literally groans in frustration, fisting his hands in the towel around his hips and shoving it to the floor. Louis just blinks at him, eyes carefully on Harry’s face instead of the completely painfully obvious erection he’s had since what feels like the moment he got in Louis’ car the night before. “Can we just? Before we leave? Once?” Harry tries again, bumbling the question around and feeling so _stupid_ and desperate because if not _now_ \- the meet lasts all day. If not now, then _when_?

Louis sets his face in that captain look, determined and fierce and a little intimidating. “Can’t, babe. I’ve gotta shower then we’ve gotta go.” He rolls off the bed, presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek when he passes him on the way to the bathroom.

Harry’s going to die, probably, because he and Louis haven’t _done_ anything.

Except kissing. And he fell asleep in Louis’ bed, wrapped around him- woke up kissing him-

Harry’s being a little dramatic. His dick’s hard; sue him.

He gets dressed, and by the time Louis gets out of the shower he’s managed to mostly squash his boner. That almost goes to shit when Louis comes out wet and shirtless and awful and presses him back against the bed, kisses him until he can’t breathe, but Harry’s willing to let that slide, just this once.

* * *

 

Zayn’s not a morning person. Harry knew that already from the team’s early practices, but it’s _much_ clearer when they pull up in front of Zayn’s house while the street’s still dark, sun not even thinking of coming out yet.

Zayn slams the door to his house and stalks slowly up the drive, sweatshirt hood up, big sunglasses on even though it’s mostly pitch black out. He takes a few seconds to stare blankly at Harry sitting in the front seat before snorting and throwing himself into the back of the car, laying down and muttering for Louis to “shut that shit music off before I torch the fucking car”. Louis just beams, turns the volume up a few steps and floors it to the school.

Harry’s palms sweat a bit when he tries to imagine how Zayn might’ve looked at him behind his huge mirrored glasses.

* * *

 

Harry hadn’t really thought how this part would go. The entire swim team rides the bus- even the junior varsity, so they can watch the meet- and Harry remembers the bus rides from previous years. The younger (nerdy) kids sat up front, sang Monty Python songs and played cards and drank lots of energy drinks, while the back of the bus was filled with the cool varsity guys who mostly- well, Harry’s not sure what they did, except when they sometimes yelled for the JV kid’s to shut the fuck up.

He follows Louis up the steps of the bus, then pauses awkwardly between the first few seats while Louis confidently tails Zayn to the very back of the aisle. Harry’s heart is beating a little too quickly, stomach rolling while he tries to figure out if he’s _allowed_ to follow them. He’s still just a sophomore, varsity spot aside. He’s going to be sick, maybe-

”Oi, move along, Styles!” Niall shouts from right behind him, and Harry jumps, swears loudly. Niall just cackles, slinging his arm around Harry’s neck and dragging him along to the back of the bus anyway. So there’s that decision made, apparently.

When they reach the back, Louis and Zayn have taken up the very last seats across from each other. Niall good-naturedly shoves Harry towards where Louis is sprawled against the window before slinging himself down beside an already-sleeping Zayn. “Tommo, almost lost your boy, there,” Niall says, winking at the two of them. Zayn’s apparently-sleeping body flails out a hand that covers Niall’s mouth, drags him down bodily to rest against Zayn’s side, and Niall blinks, startled, before settling against Zayn and closing his eyes.

Harry stares at the two of them, Zayn up against the window with his big sunglasses, peacefully snoring, Niall clearly nowhere near sleep yet, but trying, because Zayn wants him to. It’s cute, and funny, and Harry wants to laugh- but he doesn’t want to risk waking Zayn up, so he turns to Louis instead.

”Alright?” Louis asks, frowning slightly.

Harry’s cheeks burn and he laughs awkwardly, shrugging. “Just wasn’t sure- if I was supposed to- if I was allowed back here, is all? You’re all- you know, all of you are- and then there’s me- and I’m- you know-”

Louis’ nose scrunches up and he rolls his eyes before holding out on arm and letting Harry burrow in against his side. “Cute, Styles. Stupid, but cute.”

* * *

 

It’s warm against Louis’ side, comfortable when the bus roars to life and vibrates softly around them. They’ve barely been on the road fifteen minutes when Harry’s eyes slip shut, sleep-easy with Louis wrapped around him like this.

Until Louis’ lips brush his ear, soft whisper barely audible above the sound of the bus tires eating at the pavement.”You’re not nodding off, are you?”

”Mm-mm,” Harry mumbles, trying his best to blink back awake, but he’s just so _comfortable_ -

Louis hand sneaks up his thigh, fingers tip-toeing gently against the loose sweats he’d borrowed from Louis this morning. “How’re your legs feeling? Still itchy?” Louis asks, and he sounds mischievous and amused and Harry is _very_ awake, suddenly. Like he’s never slept in his entire life, almost.

”Fine,” Harry breathes out, doesn’t want to wake up Zayn or Niall or draw the attention of anyone in the seats in front of them. “Feel fine.”

”That’s good,” Louis murmurs, and Harry shivers violently at the tickle of Louis’ lips brushing the shell of his ear, his warm breath blowing Harry’s curls against his cheek. Louis’ still got one arm slung around Harry’s shoulders, and that hand is sliding under the loose collar of Harry’s shirt. Louis’ hands are so hot, even against the flush rising on Harry’s chest.

Harry sort of wants to ask what Louis’ doing, but he also sort of _knows_ what Louis is doing, and he doesn’t want to jinx it by talking about it. He bites his bottom lip to keep his mouth shut, clamps his hands down on his own knees. Something wet- Louis’ tongue- drags the sensitive skin high on his neck and Harry slams his shin into the seat in front of them.

Liam gives a sleepy, disgruntled _hey_ , and Louis pulls away from Harry to bury his face in his hands, body shaking the seat as he laughs silently into his palms.

”Christ, H, that was smooth-” he gasps against Harry’s mouth when he pulls him in for a kiss, quick and chaste in case anyone’s looking in the rearview mirrors.

Harry mumbles, “Sorry,” but leans back a bit, spreads his knees pointedly and nudges Louis’ thigh. It makes Louis laugh harder, but he still drops a hand to Harry’s thigh again, smooths his palm up and down it until Harry settles again, lets his tense muscles relax and drops his head against Louis’ shoulder.

Louis touches him. It’s teasing and terrible, and his hands are absolutely everywhere- moving on too quickly in some places, dwelling far too long in others, and Harry's- surprise, surprise- so maddeningly hard already that he thinks he might die. Again.

He turns his face into Louis' neck when the tips of Louis’ fingers barely drag over the head of Harry’s dick where it’s pushing his pants up between his thighs. He’s breathing so loudly it feels like the entire bus must hear it- even the JV kids up front, yelling about something Harry cannot be fucked to care about in this moment.

”Lou-” he breathes, voice edging high-pitched and whiny when Louis presses the heel of his palm down against Harry’s dick, trapping it against his thigh, dragging up until the head peeks out the band of Harry’s sweats and the tight cut of his swimsuit underneath- the cold air sends Harry’s skin into a fit of goosebumps. “ _Hnngh_?”

Louis snorts a laugh against Harry’s ear, and it’s startlingly intimate, the two of them staring down at Louis’ hand on Harry’s barely-uncovered dick. It should feel cheap and gross, maybe, getting a handjob in the back of a _schoolbus_. But mostly it just feels like a lot, like Louis will never be able to touch him enough, like Harry will never get tired of feeling Louis’ body pressed warm and solid against his side.

Harry’s whole body jerks when Louis traces a fingertip over the exposed head of his cock, playing in the slick wet leaking from the tip. Harry’s hands scrabbles frantically at Louis’ thigh, fingers digging in so hard that Louis sucks in a sharp breath- but he’s still lightly tracing wet lines on Harry’s skin, barely enough pressure to _do_ anything except drive Harry mad.

” _Please_ -” Harry gasps, frustrated a bit, but Louis touches his lips to Harry’s neck and smiles, presses closed-mouth kisses everywhere he can reach. Harry’s hips are pushing up over and over, frantic tight little jerks that _just_ force Louis’ fingers to touch him- he’s losing his mind.

”Please, what?” Louis asks, because he’s a mean bastard, apparently.

” _Something_ ,” Harry snaps, and he’ll feel bad about it later, maybe. “Do something, I don’t care.”

Louis _talks_ , lips buzzing soft against Harry’s burning ear and cheek and neck while he lets Harry just-maybe-almost rut up against his warm palm- _god, look at you, can’t believe I get to touch you, can’t believe you’re letting me do this, you’re so hot, this is so hot_ and _fuck_ , fine, maybe Harry can come from that if he really tries.

He’s so stupidly, incredibly close, hips stuttering against the seat, when Louis pulls his hand away, drags Harry’s swimsuit back up to cover his dick and Harry literally almost _screams_ in protest- but then Louis' hand is rubbing at the slick fabric, the drag and slide of it grating Harry’s nerves and taking his breath away.

”Want you to come in your suit, yeah?” Louis barely breathes it into his ear, his voice shaky and low and Harry keens before biting the noise off the best he can.

”Yeah, yeah, anything, yeah,” he chants, hands spasming on the seat and Louis’ thigh, gripping and releasing frantically, so _nearly there_ that he can’t even _think_ , really. “Anything you want, Lou, yeah-”

Louis hisses at that, bites soft at Harry’s earlobe and whispers like he can’t stop himself- “Jesus, you’re so fucking- gonna stand up at that meet and everyone’s gonna know I made you come in your fucking pants, Jesus, fuck-” and his grip is tight and good and Harry comes like releasing a held breath, soft and quiet with a gasp as he curls in on himself, trapping Louis’ hand where it’s still pressed against him.

”Fuck,” Louis swears under his breath, “did you?”

”Yeah,” Harry answers after a moment when he’s caught his breath and stopped shivering. “Yeah, did. You said to.”

” _Fuck_ ,” Louis swears again, pulls Harry down behind the seatback so he can kiss him hard, over and over even though Harry’s jaw’s still a bit slack. He can’t quite find the coordination to follow the way Louis is biting at his mouth and dragging him around, but it feels nice, so he just lets him.

Harry’s post-orgasm hazy, but what he _does_ know is that he wants to touch Louis- his chest and his dick and his mouth and his hands- everything. He pushes weakly at Louis’ body, shoves him until he gets Louis how he wants, with his back against the window and his legs lengthwise across the seat, Harry settled between them with his head on Louis’ thigh like he’s going to sleep.

He isn’t, but hopefully no one else needs to know that. Not that Harry really minds.

Louis is looking down at him with his eyebrows raised in confusion, fringe falling out from beneath his beanie. His cheeks are so red. He’s so pretty, is the thing. His dick is so hard, trapped in his sweats with Harry’s cheek pillowed on top. Louis threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, soothing and sweet, but his grip tightens abruptly when Harry turns his face down, mouths wetly at the thick line of Louis’ dick.

” _Jesus_ ,” Louis gasps, tilting his hips sharply up and pushing Harry’s neck to a weird angle so he chokes a bit and they both end up laughing. Louis whispers, “Sorry, sorry,” and pets at Harry’s hair, encouraging him to continue.

Harry hums, drags his lips over the fabric of Louis’ sweats- his mouth is already raw from kissing Louis, and the cotton stings a bit, but it still feels nice, Louis’ dick twitching against his tongue, Louis’ fingers shaking as they card through his hair.

Harry’s intensely aware that Niall or Zayn could wake up any moment- that they might already be awake. He’s aware that Liam could look over the back of his seat and see Harry nuzzling his face against Louis’ crotch, but mostly he can’t find it in himself to care. He wants Louis to come, and then he wants to kiss him, and then he sort of wants a nap. Somewhere, distantly, he also wants to do well at the swim meet, wants not to embarrass himself floundering around in the water. Harry’s a simple boy, all things told.

He pulls back a bit, reaches up and presses the cloth of Louis’ sweats tight over his dick, wanting to see the details but too shy to actually pull Louis’ pants down. The ridge of the head is visible, the wet spot over the tip just a bit darker than the surrounding fabric. Without really thinking about it, Harry leans in and fits his mouth over that spot, lashes his tongue against it, sucking until Louis is squirming, pulling hard at Harry’s hair.

Louis is muttering swears under his breath again, and it makes Harry’s stomach flood with warmth, having this power over him. The inside of his mouth is cottony and bitter, but the warm, solid press of Louis against his tongue and the hectic,tight rolling of his hips feels good.

It doesn’t take much at all for Louis to come; just a few minutes of Harry drooling over his dick and rubbing one hand over the softness of Louis’ skin beneath his t-shirt. Harry feels when it happens, feels Louis’ dick jerk hard through the layers of clothes, feels the rush of wet, and there’s the heady smell of Louis, everywhere. Louis sinks down against the window, drags Harry up until they’re face to face, mouths slotting together even though Harry’s lips are swollen and nearly numb.

“Can’t believe you came in your swimsuit,” Louis whispers after a moment. Harry frowns, sitting up a bit to get a good look at Louis’ face.

“We both did,” he says slowly, watching Louis carefully.

“Nah,” is all Louis says, grinning now.

“You came in yours, too!” Harry hisses, face on fire. “You just did, I saw!”

“Didn’t,” Louis says smugly, smirking huge. He pulls the waistband of his pants down slightly, flashes Harry a peek at the cotton boxerbriefs he’s wearing underneath. “My swimsuit’s in my bag.”

Harry sputters, mouth opening and closing while he tries to wrap his head around it. “You- you _planned_ this! You _knew_!” he accuses, voice going screechy and loud, finger pointing in Louis’ face. For his part, Louis is laughing, shushing Harry quietly and trying to pull him down to soothe him. After a bit of a struggle, Harry goes lax, settling on Louis’ chest again and blinking down at him owlishly. “I can’t believe you’re such a dick,” he says, but he just sounds stupidly fond and sleepy.

Louis raises his eyebrows, challenging, leering a bit. “How’s your suit feel? Comfy?” he asks, innocent. “ _Dry_?”

Harry can’t help but laugh even though he’s blushing and he feels a bit terribly embarrassed. “Fuck off, Lou.”

”You’re cute,” Louis says, craning his neck up so he can kiss Harry’s forehead, and alright, maybe it’s worth being a little embarrassed if he gets Louis like this- sleepy and soft and sweet, hidden away from the rest of the world in the back of this stupid school bus.

Harry shrugs, trying not to look _too_ pleased, and rests his cheek against Louis’ chest. “Tired,” he says.

Louis wraps his arms around him loosely and presses his face into Harry’s hair, tells him, “Sleep. Got an hour or so til the meet, still.”

Harry means to say, “Okay,” but he falls asleep before he gets around to it.

* * *

 

When they wake up, they’ll have a lot to deal with- a swim meet, for one, and Zayn’s knowing looks and Niall’s cheerful omnipotence and Liam’s darling obliviousness, and the wet spots on the front of their pants, but that’s later. For now, they curl up in the back of the bus, Harry dozing on Louis and Louis sleeping like the dead, and it’s warm and nice and _good._


End file.
